Family Heirloom
It gurgled and roared as the message spread
Like a rising fever, bodies unkempt
bare feet, uncombed hair, in a hurry it swooped
all — the brilliant, the dull, the rich and the poor.
The land of our buried ancestors lore
was scratched deep open flesh wounds in shiny floor
Oozing out the blood of conjured religious war
treasures were kept, still returning for more.
As the birds roamed free above them in the air,
neighbours forced to choose allegiance— here or there
Granny stories both sides were the same
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They had buried lost golden memories in vain.
In a monsoon sky, a one land bled for two
A crying crowd, thundered two nations anew.
And so the neighbours were never the same
They understood the fence- no turning away
The wounds are still black and purple
Fresh bandaging at every new hurdle.
I would not return to the land my family once shared
yet I sometimes think if it were worth splitting away.
This is not the prose for the love of another
but of a inherited dark truth that stays undercover.
Like a family heirloom, it’s passed down to me
A fence, a fight and a fantasy.
